


The Twilight Zone

by Blackbird Song (Blackbird_Song)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Big Bang Challenge, Challenge Response, M/M, T'hy'la Big Bang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-14
Updated: 2013-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 10:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/925460
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blackbird_Song/pseuds/Blackbird%20Song
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sent to a tidally locked planet to represent Starfleet at an important conference on resource management, Kirk and Spock are torn apart when a bomb explodes at the beginning of the meeting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Twilight Zone

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Сумеречная зона](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5154701) by [Nagini_snake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nagini_snake/pseuds/Nagini_snake)



> Written for the thyla_bigbang community challenge of 2013 on LiveJournal, whose them this year was "Old, married space-husbands". Many thanks to my husband for the beta.
> 
> Enormous gratitude to Howlandbird for the fabulous art pieces! I'm embedding them in the story, but you may also check them out here: <http://howlandbird.livejournal.com/1279.html>
> 
> And for heaven's sake, go see Howlandbird's Tumblr page! <http://howlandbird.tumblr.com/>

"Welcome to Fratria, Mister—"

"Captain—"

"Admiral," said Spock.

"Oh, yes," said Kirk, "I nearly forgot."

"Indeed," said Spock.

Kirk shot him a sidelong look. "Kirk." He looked back at the attractive greeter and noted three gender possibilities. "Admiral James T. Kirk. And this is—"

"Captain Spock, your husband," said the greeter, eyes opened a millimeter wider than they had been.

Kirk glanced at Spock, whose eyebrow was raised. "We aren't married," he said.

"Not to each other," said Spock.

Kirk turned to him, a question filling his mind.

"We are married to our work," said Spock.

Kirk turned back to the greeter. "Yes, that's right. Well, er, what should I call you?"

"Tarnín," said the greeter.

"Pleased to meet you, Tarnín. Are our rooms ready?"

"Oh." Tarnín blushed a shade of salmon that Kirk couldn't remember having seen before. "So sorry, Admiral Kirk, but the reservation stated that you and Captain Spock were married and required only one room. We have no others...."

"It is the high season," said Spock, reasonably, though Kirk turned in surprise at hearing it. "It is logical."

"If you wish it, I can evict a lesser guest," said Tarnín, going from salmon to puce.

Kirk shook his head. "No harm done."

"The Admiral and I are accustomed to sharing close quarters, on occasion," Spock offered.

"Then I—"

"Can show us to our quarters without having to sacrifice a digit," said Kirk. "Everybody thinks we're married."

"Yes," said Spock, "but who made the arrangements for our stay in Fratria, and why did they not specify our actual arrangement?"

"I'm betting on Bones," muttered Kirk, as Tarnín took his credit chit.

"I shall never understand why Doctor McCoy was promoted to Admiral," said Spock.

Kirk signed the PADD, with a small smile at Spock's seethe. "Because it was time," he said. "They'd have promoted you, if you hadn't threatened to leave Starfleet when they gave you the news." He didn't look up, but he could feel Spock's stifled sigh from a meter away. 

"Thank you, Admiral," said Tarnín. 

"You're welcome. Now if you could guide us to our room...."

"With great pleasure! Would you prefer a life-form or a personal navigation device?"

Kirk glanced up at Tarnín and caught a fleeting glimpse of weariness quickly hidden. "The PND is fine," he said.

Tarnín handed him an object about the size and configuration of an ocarina. It was throbbing. "Certainly, Admiral. You may reach me by saying, 'Help' at any volume within one meter of the device. For directions, speak the name of the chamber you wish to access."

"How does one disable it?" asked Spock.

"Just say, 'Privacy'," said Tarnín, with a professional but knowing smile.

"Thanks," said Kirk. He looked at the thing pulsing in his hand. "Umm..." The thing hummed at him. "Oh, dear," he mumbled.

"There is no 'Oh dear' chamber."

Kirk nearly dropped the PND.

"Do you mean—"?

"Hero's Welcome!"

The device started purring.

Kirk glanced over at Spock, and for a moment forgot about the very directed vibrations against his fingers.

Spock's eyes were fixed on a point about six centimeters below Tarnín's right shoulder.

"May I be of assistance, Captain Spock?"

"Forgive the intrusion, Tarnín, but I have never seen a Benthian scarab before. I assume that it is a replica...."

Tarnín's face changed for an instant. "Of course. It is illegal to possess or traffic in endangered life forms."

"Yes. Yes, of course. It is an excellent piece."

"Thank you, Captain. You are most kind." Tarnín smiled a practiced smile and turned to the next guest.

"Come on, Spock," said Kirk, walking away. He stopped and turned when he didn't hear the expected footsteps.

Spock was rooted in place, gazing at Tarnín.

Kirk sighed and returned to him. "Spock," he murmured into a pointed ear, "it's rude to stare...." When Spock didn't respond, Kirk tugged gently on his sleeve. "Spock," he whispered, a bit more urgently. From all the briefings he'd received concerning Fratria, it was not wise to keep looking at someone with whom one was neither conversing nor seeking sexual contact.

Spock took a faltering step towards Kirk, still angling for a better view of Tarnín's scarab.

Kirk took the opportunity to insinuate an arm around his shoulders and steer him away from the reception desk. "Long journey," he explained to those whose eyes were now on them. "We're both in need of sleep. Aren't we, Spock?"

"Yes...."

Spock's wavering response couldn't have served Kirk's purpose any better. He clapped Spock on the shoulder, guiding him firmly towards the Hero's Welcome chamber.

*****

"This isn't a chamber," said Kirk, gawking at the thirty-meter ceiling.

"Indeed, the term seems somewhat ... misplaced." Spock reconnoitered the room with Kirk.

"Human-scale furnishings...."

"Golgothyrian doors," said Spock, gazing up at the nineteen by fifteen meter, carved stone doors.

"All thirteen of them," said Kirk. "This must have been designed in honor of Bāthar the Savior. I didn't know Fratria went back that far...."

"Indeed," said Spock, absently.

"I thought they said it was only one room." Kirk touched the nearest of the giant doors and watched it open into a massive closet with rods, hooks, shelves and claws spaced a meter apart from half a meter off the floor to half a meter from the ceiling.

"I believe that they said only one bedroom," said Spock.

They explored each room branching off of the ovoid Reception Room, before coming together at the last of them. "Parlor, sitting room, playroom, bathroom, universal chapel, dining room, kitchen, office, security ops, nursery – I don't think either of us will be sleeping in that crib – greenhouse, kennel – this has to be the bedroom." Kirk gazed at Spock. "I'm almost afraid to look...."

"Shall I?" Spock held his hand near the activation point of the door.

"Be my guest," said Kirk, drily. "That bed—"

"It is quite—"

"Indescribable—"

"Disorienting."

Kirk laughed. "It's huge!"

"It's rhomboid," said Spock.

"I could see where it might suit a Golgothyrian," said Kirk. He glanced uncertainly at Spock.

Spock looked at Kirk and stalked towards the bed, as though he were going to lecture it. He sat on it, eyebrow lifting almost immediately. "It is most satisfactory."

"That means it'll be too soft for me," said Kirk, with an inward sigh.

"I believe not," said Spock, gesturing with eyes and body for Kirk to sit next to him.

Kirk complied, eyes widening before he'd finished putting his weight all the way on the bed. "How did it do that?"

"I believe that you'll find that this is the latest endeavor in intuitive mattress technology," said Spock. "Doctor McCoy mentioned coming across such a device at the last medical technology symposium he attended."

"Which would explain why he pulled this booking prank on us," said Kirk. He looked at the expanse of bed behind them both. "Well, at least there's plenty of room...."

"Indeed."

"This thing's bigger than Iowa," muttered Kirk. "We'll need to use our communicators to stay in touch."

"I do not believe that would be necessary, Jim."

Kirk smiled, letting his arm brush against Spock's. "No, I suppose it wouldn't."

"Are you hungry?"

"No. I'm just tired. You?"

"I have had sufficient food intake for the day." Spock looked at Kirk. "I, too, am fatigued, Jim."

"It's been a long day," said Kirk, leaning into Spock for a moment before rising to get ready for bed. "It looks like this bedroom has two additional bathrooms," he said.

"That is ... sanitary," said Spock.

Kirk snorted. "You mean 'excessive'."

"Yes."

Kirk turned his first genuine smile of the day on Spock. "I'm glad you're here, Spock. I just hope we can find each other after we've had our showers...."

"I have always found you."

"Or I, you."

After a brief ache, they broke eye contact. Kirk erased the memory of who 'blinked' first, as always, and headed for the Golgothyrian-appropriate waterfall he knew he'd find in bathroom number one. He hoped that there was a water pressure control on this one. The last one he'd encountered had nearly washed him down the drain.

*****

Spock found the conference chamber tedious in its standardized, manipulative opulence. He was also troubled by the inexorable sense that Jim was depressed and feeling himself old. Though he'd always known that the probability of their lives ending at the same time was merely academic, he'd discovered recently why humans referred to the flight of time. But all of that was immaterial and objectionable if it interfered with his duty of friendship to Jim.

As he began to dismiss from his mind anything but the duties of the day, he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye. When he attempted to focus on it, he saw nothing. He blinked and refocused, but still nothing came into view.

"Spock?"

He turned to find Jim looking quizzically at him.

"Still trying to memorize your speech?"

"No."

"You looked like you were a light year away."

"Apologies for my distraction. I have rarely spent time in a terminator zone. It affects my equilibrium...."

Jim peered at him. "You sure you'll be all right?"

"Yes." He thought he saw another flicker of something, and glanced toward it, without success. "But I am experiencing some visual anomalies."

"Explain."

"I ... Doctor McCoy would say that I am 'seeing things'."

Jim looked sharply at him. "Like what?"

"Uncertain. The visual phenomenon most closely resembled that of an activated cloaking device."

"Which is impossible," said Jim. "Cloaking devices are prohibited within five light years of Benthia for the next hundred of its years."

"Yes," said Spock. 

"But your senses are nearly always accurate," said Jim, with a penetrating gaze.

"Jim!"

They both turned at the sound of the familiar voice. "Areel," said Jim, with a smile in which Spock observed relief. "I was wondering where you were!"

Areel Shaw stepped into Jim's embrace. "Long time, no see!" She kissed his cheek.

When Jim returned the gesture, Spock dealt with the customary jolt of unharmonious emotion with as much inward distaste as ever. Regrettably, the perpetual state of dawn on this side of Fratria didn't appear to affect his emotional responses.

"So how's Earth's Special Representative for Legislative Affairs?" said Jim, once he and Ms. Shaw had stepped apart.

"Busy," she said, with efficiency appropriate to the situation. Spock had always admired that characteristic in her. "We need to talk before the conference starts." She glanced at Spock.

"If you will excuse me, Admiral, Representative Shaw...."

Jim gave Spock a regretful look.

"Jim, we have to do this now," said Ms. Shaw.

Jim nodded at Spock. "I'll see you at the conference bell."

Spock inclined his head and moved away, giving them space to go to the other side of the chamber.

And then he saw it: an unmistakable shimmer of disrupted light bending to cloak something. Carefully, he did not look directly at it. Instead, he began to calculate its rough shape and mass from the periphery of his senses. 

But as the door of the conference chamber began to close, the elusive anomaly slipped through it at unexpected speed.

Spock followed more slowly, keeping the shimmer in sight as it made its way through the long corridor to the Hall of Greeting. He noted with some dismay that the anomaly was heading for the main door on the Dawn Side of the Consular Inn. He paused, wondering if he should follow any further, given that the conference bell was going to ring in six point three minutes. Given how long it would take him to return to the conference chamber, he decided to follow the anomaly as far as the door, hastily recalculating how far he could go outside of the door if he ran back.

The explosion threw him through the door and against the wall across the quadrangle from the Inn. As he lost consciousness, the last thing he saw was the shape disappearing around the corner of the building before the cloak was caught in the blast wave and flew up into the air. The last thing he thought was _Jim_.

*****

Kirk came to feeling sick and disoriented, the world a haze of dust and pain and a horrible ringing in his ears. Such an awakening was nothing he hadn't experienced before, but it was becoming even more unpleasant as he grew older. His first thought was of Areel. He opened his eyes and let them focus through the airborne grime. And then he heard her moaning next to him. 

She was covered in powdered stone, and the thick sludge sliding slowly down the side of her face could only signify an underlying gash that needed medical attention. And there was the beam across her legs that had somehow missed his.

Kirk's own limbs felt unbroken, but he was pretty sure that he had a concussion. He started to call for help, only to find himself choking on debris and unable to get a full breath.

Then he remembered the PND. He felt for it and looked for it, and eventually saw it lying four feet from him, on Areel's other side. "I'm sorry," he rasped, leaning over her to retrieve it.

The sound from her as he moved was soul shattering. As soon as she made it, though, the PND hummed to life and started to emit an ear-splitting whine. Kirk covered his ears automatically, wondering if anyone would be there to hear it. 

Hands and voices whirled into his consciousness. Something like a hypo-spray was pressed into his arm, but the voices seemed distant. "Areel Shaw," he managed.

"Special Representative Shaw is alive, Admiral Kirk."

Kirk sought the voice through the cacophonous ringing in his ears and saw a humanoid figure clothed in hazard gear standing where Areel had been pinned two seconds ago. And then he saw that the light had changed. "How long have you been there?" he croaked.

"Five Federation standard minutes. The intensive rescue team just finished extracting Representative Shaw. Your Personal Navigation Device put you in stasis until the rescue was completed and your condition was ascertained. You can expect tinnitus for the next three work cycles. It is suggested that you—"

"I have to find Spock," said Kirk, as he started to get up.

"It is recommended that you seek assistance when changing position—"

"I can man—oh!" 

The figure in front of him started to sway as it held out a gloved hand.

Kirk took it with a huge degree of annoyance and levered himself up. "Thanks. Where's my PND?"

The rescuer hesitated before handing it to him.

"Tarnín?" said Kirk at the device.

There was a stilted hum in his palm, and then there was nothing.

"Help," Kirk tried.

A series of clicks and whirs buzzed through his fingers.

"Hero's Welcome."

The thing in his hand began to vibrate in a manner that could only be described as agitated.

"The Hero's Welcome chamber has been obliterated," said the rescuer, matter-of-factly.

Kirk felt his blood run cold. "Spock," he murmured. He tapped his communicator. "Spock!" he yelled.

Nothing.

Nothing mattered anymore as Kirk took off at a run, vision suddenly clear and the map of the Consular Inn presenting itself in brutal clarity to his brain.

Robbed of all ability to move, he stood gaping at what had once been the corridor, outer wall and door to Hero's Welcome. It was now a crater in which he couldn't see anything bigger than one of McCoy's latest medical tricorders. When he remembered the size of the furniture and fittings in the room, of the bed that he and Spock had shared mere hours before, 'obliterated' suddenly seemed too mild a description when it was so accurate. 

He swallowed and mustered his inner neutronium before shouldering past the safety team and clambering down into what used to be his suite. It didn't take him long to realize that this was a bad idea. 

It also didn't take long for the safety team to haul him out of the pulverized wreckage that was swallowing him whole. "Are you all right, Admiral Kirk?"

"Where is Captain Spock?"

"His remains have not been discovered."

"Remains?"

"Captain Spock's life signs do not exist within the Consular Inn."

Kirk very much wanted to rip the hazard gear off of the team leader and throttle him. Her. It. "Give me the last recorded position of Captain Spock," he said, menacing.

"Of course, Admiral." The team leader activated a device on the back of what Kirk hoped was a wrist. "Accessing...." 

Kirk found himself wishing that he and Spock had agreed to forming the permanent link that Bones had joked about – and then seriously proposed years later. He couldn't tell whether the feeling of doom and pain was anything more than just what could be expected after a bombing that destroyed a Federation Resource Council meeting and a sizable chunk of the biggest hotel on the planet.

And then the fully covered figure of the safety team leader went very still. "Captain Spock was last recorded exiting the eastern egress at great speed. He was horizontal and ... airborne." 

Kirk froze himself into a stern stance while he considered dissolving inside. "Show me that door."

The team leader turned zir wrist towards Kirk.

"Damn!" Kirk cursed, softly. "I can't see that. Where's the door?"

Just then, a figure shrouded in the haze caught Kirk's eye. "Never mind," he said to the whole safety team. "Tarnín!"

The figure just kept walking.

Kirk bolted after it. "Hey, Tarnín!" He caught up to it. "Tarnín, where's Spock?"

The figure kept walking.

Kirk grasped its shoulder. "Hey!"

It turned around, revealing a humanoid male that wasn't Tarnín, who was eying him with unveiled hostility.

"I'm sorry," said Kirk. "I thought you were someone else—"

"We all look alike to you."

"I saw you from the back through a cloud of smoke," said Kirk, "and I don't have very good eyes. I thought you were someone else until you turned around."

"You make a convincing excuse," said the being, still laced with contempt.

"I'm looking for my companion – a Vulcan male. Have you seen him?"

"I have seen no Vulcans during this business shift."

"Then can you guide me to the eastern egress? He was last recorded there."

"I am going there. You may follow me that far."

Kirk met the hostile gaze. "Thank you, Mister ... what should I call you?"

"Gleymór," said the being, after a long pause.

"Thank you, Mister Gleymór. I'm—"

"Admiral Kirk," said Gleymór. "Everyone knows who you are." He turned and started walking swiftly away.

"Then you probably also know who my companion is," said Kirk, almost having to trot to keep up with the long-legged stride.

"Captain Spock." Gleymór sounded utterly uninterested.

Kirk didn't know whether to feel offended or relieved about that. "They said he was last recorded proceeding horizontally through the eastern egress at great speed."

Gleymór slowed. "Ah."

That was when Kirk started to worry.

"You will need to examine the quadrangle for ... signs of your husband."

"We aren't married."

Gleymór frowned. "Another Federation lie?"

"Neither Spock nor I, nor the Federation, has ever lied about our marital status or lack thereof."

"Salacious conjecture of the masses, then. Tedious." Gleymór quickened his pace, again.

"Look, Mr. Gleymór—"

"The eastern egress is here. You may follow me no further." Gleymór stalked through a massive portal into the perpetual light of dawn. As he turned the corner, something bright and familiar arced off the sole of his shoe.

Kirk went to where it landed and bent to pick it up. "Spock...." His fingers closed steadily around the comm badge, noticing every pit and scratch as his heart trembled.

He didn't know that he'd been followed until he felt the searing pain of the knockout blow to his skull.

*****

Nothing in his experience – not even his _kahs-wan_ – had prepared Spock for the rigors of a desert caused by constant exposure to the sun. Especially irksome was the stench of the rubbish mounds he encountered as he attempted to track the elusive life form with decreasing success. 

He was tired. He hadn't slept since he'd regained consciousness in the quadrangle and found his communicator missing. 

His arm hurt. He'd felt the shrapnel of glass and titanium alloy penetrate as he'd been thrown through the portal from the Consular Inn.

His eyes were starting to fail him as the relentless brightness increased. He noticed that his inner eyelids were attempting to close, and it was becoming difficult to stop the process.

He was thirsty. It had been three Starfleet standard days since he'd last consumed any water, and it was becoming impossible to ignore the toll that was taking on his kidneys and vascular system.

The hunger, fortunately, was not a serious problem. He would be able to survive without incident for another ten point two days without food in these circumstances, if he could find fluid. Without water, he would be dead in one point eight days, calculating for temperature increase and decrease of wind.

He was also puzzled. His internal chronometer had informed him that he'd been unconscious for one point three-five hours after he'd been thrown against the wall opposite the Inn. At the rate of speed at which the life form could move, he should never have been able to find it without the resources of the _Enterprise_ or Federation Security. And yet, mere minutes after he'd stumbled away from the wall and started down the road the being had taken, he'd spotted a form of the same size and gait darting around another corner.

He knew that he was being led on a chase. He just didn't know why. He also knew – though he didn't know how he knew – that the test to which he was being put was necessary. 

That test was proving more difficult as the time marched on. The challenge posed to his equilibrium by constant light was exacerbated by all the other privations facing him, and the entity he was pursuing was becoming more difficult to discover and follow.

And then his inner eyelids slammed shut against a blast of sun as he rounded a huge mound of refuse. As he stumbled against it, he felt something push sharply against him. The blast of toxic gas inundated his lungs and knocked him to the ground. He knew that his katra would be lost this time, and wished he could say goodbye to Jim.

*****

Kirk awoke in a dark room. He was supine. He was on a bed. Just an ordinary bed, like a dingy version of the one he grew up with in Iowa. His relief at that realization surprised him. A lifetime spent in a variety of beds the like of which few would ever see, and all he wanted was just a pedestrian, lived-in bed. Well, maybe not too lived-in. And being chained to said bed was a bit much.

It would also be nice if his head didn't hurt quite so much. And why was it so dark when he was smelling outside air and feeling it against his cheek? "Where am I?" he muttered.

"On the other side of Fratria," said a female voice from about ten feet away.

Kirk froze. "Okay," he said, slowly. "Why am I here?"

"You're a hostage, Admiral Kirk."

"And you're keeping the room dark so I can't see you?"

"No, because it's night time, or as close as it gets here. If you want to see the real night, you have to go another four hundred and ninety-seven kilometers west of here."

"You make it sound like the greatest wonder of the universe," said Kirk.

"That's because it's so cool and the stars are _amazing_."

"How old are you?"

"In Federation standard years?"

"If you wouldn't mind...."

"Ninety-seven."

"Ninety—you don't sound like you're more than seventeen!" Kirk adjusted his position and tested his bonds.

"Oh, ninety-seven is young for a Benthian Darksider. But not so young that I'll let you go, or anything."

"Not even if I have to pee?"

"You won't need to urinate until workshift prime."

"You sound awfully sure of yourself...."

"That's because I gave you the injection. But don't worry. They're building you a room where you don't have to be chained. We don't believe in violence."

"Oh, really? How do you explain my concussion?"

The girl shifted, which enabled Kirk to hear that she was in a chair. Probably a wingchair. "I'm so sorry about that," she said. "That wasn't supposed to happen."

"Really? What was supposed to happen?"

"You were supposed to come with us willingly."

"Well, maybe if someone had asked me, I would have." Kirk began to feel extremely annoyed.

And then he could hear the girl suddenly sitting bolt upright in her chair. "They said they did ask you!"

"Well, 'they' lied!" The pain in Kirk's head was eclipsed only by the pain of remembering how he'd found Spock's comm badge. He couldn't even rub his forehead or cover his eyes as the tears threatened to come.

"Shh, shhhhh...." 

There was a cool hand on his brow and a sweet, calm scent wafting through him.

"I believe you. I know you're telling the truth."

Kirk turned his head violently away. "Don't you dare try to meld with me!"

"I won't. This isn't a Vulcan meld. We can't do that. We just ... we can read life forms. And some of us are better at it than others."

"Then why were you fooled?"

"What do you mean?"

"You said they told you they'd asked me. You believed them. If you can read people so well, why were you fooled?"

The girl sighed. "We've learned to fool each other," she said, at last. "One of the poisons of having our planet stolen from us by outsiders."

"Benthia was given to the Federation by your Trade Council in return for protection from exploitation and planetary climate change."

The girl laughed, harshly. "And look what your Federation has done! You don't even know what Fratria used to be called, do you?"

"No." Kirk hated admitting it. Spock would know. Spock did know. Spock had fallen asleep on him before finishing his story.

> "I am forced to admit that Doctor McCoy's obsession with these beds may have a certain logic."
> 
> Kirk smiled into his book as Spock stretched out beside him, surprisingly close. "You're practically purring, Spock."
> 
> "Mm."
> 
> Kirk laughed quietly. "If anyone had told me when we first met that Vulcans had a soft spot for luxury, I'd have had McCoy administer a psych test immediately."
> 
> "Vulcan pride must be maintained," said Spock.
> 
> "You're finally admitting to pride? I never thought I'd see the day!" Kirk glanced over at Spock, and saw the goose bumps on the bare chest and arms. "Are you cold, or is the air giving you problems?"
> 
> "I am cold."
> 
> "Well that would explain why you're so close to me when you've got twenty meters of available space in this bed...."
> 
> "If my proximity is troubling, I can relocate myself to a more distant—"
> 
> "Spock!" Kirk shook his head and snarl-sighed. "All these years, and – come here...."
> 
> Spock hesitated.
> 
> "What's the problem? I thought you liked it when I touch you."
> 
> "I have never said that...."
> 
> "You didn't have to. Just come here, would you?"
> 
> Spock shifted closer to Kirk, who pulled him in.
> 
> "That's more like it! Jeez, you are cold! Why didn't you say something?"
> 
> "I did."
> 
> Kirk rolled his eyes. "I meant earlier! What would people think if I let my purported husband freeze to death?"
> 
> "That you were neglectful," said Spock, promptly. "But I was in no danger of freezing to death."
> 
> "Maybe not," said Kirk, rubbing Spock's shoulder and tucking the covers in around them both, "but you do get sick if you stay cold too long. You going to be okay?"
> 
> "Yes."
> 
> Kirk couldn't help but like this closeness, but he did wish that it could just be matter-of-fact between them, and not so subject to the barriers of cultural norms and perceived decorum that still separated them. "Good," he said, only just avoiding kissing Spock's forehead. "Now tell me about the Benthian scarab that you saw on Tarnín earlier. What's its significance?"
> 
> "As you know, it's a highly endangered species, and is also highly prized by poachers and traffickers. Anyone who wears something that looks like one is required to carry certification of its factory origins and submit the object to a full molecular scan on demand in order to authenticate its origin."
> 
> "Yes, I do know that," said Kirk, absently stroking Spock's shoulder under the covers. "But what makes them more special than any other endangered species? And why was Tarnín so anxious to escape when you noticed her jewel?"
> 
> "There is a legend that the Benthians developed a very close bond with the creatures – a bit like the relationship between a Terran witch and her familiar, according to some of the more colorful stories." Spock shivered against Kirk.
> 
> "But...?"
> 
> "From what I have been able to gather, it seemed a more physically-based relationship. The writings ascribe benefits of health and longevity to those who kept scarabs as Benthia became tidally locked. Of course, the same people who kept the animals at that time were also amongst the wealthiest inhabitants, and could thus be expected to have those attributes already in place."
> 
> Kirk held Spock a little closer. "But that wouldn't stop traffickers from picking up on an opportunity to scam off-world buyers."
> 
> "No, it would not. And as you know, that is exactly what happened."
> 
> "Until the Federation put a stop to it under the Endangered Species Charter."
> 
> "Which, apparently, Tarnín has failed to observe."
> 
> "Really?"
> 
> "Yes. The Benthian scarab on her shoulder was real."
> 
> "How can you tell?"
> 
> "There is a band of color on the scutellum—"
> 
> "You mean the ultramarine chevron?"
> 
> "Yes." Spock yawned against Kirk's shoulder. "It is known for its difficulty of reproduction."
> 
> "And you can always tell, of course...."
> 
> "Yes."
> 
> "And...."
> 
> "Tarnín's scarab was real. And, more importantly, alive."
> 
> "How could you tell?"
> 
> "The coloring agent changes nature when the animal dies." Spock's speech was slowing. "That is why Fratria was ... was...once ... known...."
> 
> "When was the last time you got a good night's sleep?" Kirk murmured. He kissed the silvering head. It wasn't often that he could steal moments like this, and it hurt. 

"I am sorry that your lifemate is lost."

Kirk realized that he was weeping. "Then why did you blow him up?" he snarled.

"We didn't use any explosives." The girl spoke smoothly, but there was a thread of doubt running through her voice. "We abhor violence."

Struck in the face by the usefulness of his pain, Kirk brought himself under control with speed and venom. "And yet your ... partners knocked me out and brought me here by force." His eyes were becoming accustomed to the maddening gray-blackness of the light, though his mind was not. He could begin to make out a slight figure, and that it was sitting or crouching next to the bed. He thought it looked tall and long-limbed, but his head hurt, and he couldn't wipe away the tears that still interfered with the little vision permitted him.

"I told you that wasn't supposed to happen!" The girl really sounded like the child she said she was, which was more informative than anything that had been said so far.

"But it did happen," said Kirk, channeling every parental instinct he'd ever observed. "Now tell me why I'm here."

*****

Spock awoke to the sensations of comfortable air, adequate hydration and restraints binding his wrists and ankles. He was also blindfolded. 

"Welcome to the House of the Sun, Captain Spock."

"Thank you, Tarnín. To what do I owe my life?"

"Your persistence, skills and forbearance brought you to our attention. Our abhorrence of needless death caused us to give you shelter and care."

"I thank you. Might I be permitted to see?"

"The bandage on your eyes is for healing purposes, rather than obfuscation. The healer says that it must remain in place for another Federation standard hour."

"Has your healer any experience in treating Vulcans?"

"Until you arrived, his experience was limited to medical texts in the knowledge repository."

"Then I would respectfully request that you allow me the use of at least one hand so that I may safely remove the covering from my eyes. The pressure is impairing retraction of the inner eyelids."

"The healer said nothing about inner eyelids in the Vulcan species," said Tarnín.

"It is a near vestigial artifact of Vulcan anatomy. Mine were activated in your desert after three Federation standard days of exposure to your sun without adequate eye protection. I assume from the cooler temperature and ambient sound that we are inside a structure of some sort?"

"Yes. The light in here is currently shaded to thirty-five percent of outside available lumens."

"Then will you allow me to remove my blindfold, Tarnín? It is causing me pain."

"Yes."

Spock heard and felt Tarnín's movement towards him.

And then it stopped approximately one point two meters away. "Please be aware, Captain Spock, that I am well trained in five hundred and seventy-three combat techniques. I don't wish to use any of them, but I will not hesitate to do so if you create the necessity."

"Understood. You should also be aware that I have equally formidable training and similar inclinations when faced with credible threats to life or limb."

"We have an understanding, then."

"Yes." Spock quietly prepared himself to kill, if required.

Tarnín touched the restraint on his left wrist, and it fell away.

"May I move?"

There was a moment of silence. "Please wait."

Spock sensed Tarnín moving around the foot of the padded platform to which he was bound before he felt a similar touch to the restraint on his right wrist. The movement he sensed after that was infinitely faster than he'd expected it to be.

"You may remove the bandage from your eyes," said Tarnín from approximately ten meters away.

Spock lifted his hands to his face, flexing his fingers to help restore circulation and schooling away the pain in order to remove the binding from his eyes. "There is a substance between the bandage and my eyes. What is it?"

"It is a moisturizing lubricant derived from the comfort weed in the southern region of Hamool. It is widely prized on Benthia for its healing properties."

"It is causing my eyes to burn."

Tarnín was at his side within two point three seconds, pressing something wet into his hand. "This cloth is soaked in the neutralizer, which has been tested on and proven harmless to every species to visit Fratria."

Spock applied the cloth to his eyes and felt the burning ease immediately.

"I apologize for the healer's error in applying a substance that had not been tested on Vulcans. Do you require further remedy?" 

"No. But you should note that I am half human, and do not always react as pure Vulcans do. Such generalizations can prove faulty."

"I shall inform the healer of your experience. He was made aware of your genetic heritage before he began treatment of your ailments...."

"Do not be troubled. My ... genetic heritage is a challenge even to the _Enterprise's_ chief medical officer. With your permission, I wish to open my eyes."

"Permission granted." Tarnín was once again at least ten meters away.

The illumination was sufficiently bright that Spock had to cover his face with his hands and adjust to the light seeping between his fingers before gradually pulling them away and reconnoitering the space in which he found himself.

The walls were irregular, rough-hewn in places and naturally formed in others. The ceiling was equally irregular, more dome-like than anything else, and though impacted by tools and intent, it was clearly a natural structure. "This is a cave, is it not?"

"Yes. My people retreated to places like this as Benthia lost its days and nights."

"That is logical." Spock's vision was still improperly focused, and he experienced a slight disorientation as he attempted to catalogue the room. And then it occurred to him that his internal chronometer was not functioning correctly. "How long have I been here?"

"Fifty-seven hours, eighteen minutes and thirty-two seconds, according to Federation standard time."

"Fascinating. I don't recall entering a healing trance...." Spock considered that for a few moments. He had been coping for several weeks with a greater than usual lack of sleep, and the stressors of the explosion and resultant injury, coupled with the subsequent pursuit in the wastelands of rubbish and hot desert sun with no access to consumable water, would more than explain such a long period of unconsciousness, even without a healing trance. 

"As a concierge at the Consular Inn, I have, of course, been familiarized with the Vulcan healing trance," said Tarnín. "I saw none of the signs on record in your unconscious state. Do you need to enter one?"

Spock ran a check over his system, which was functioning at a less than optimal level, but did not seem to require more than a few nights of restorative sleep. He was also very worried about Jim. "Not at this time. May I sit up?"

"Yes. Do you require assistance?"

"I do not believe so." Spock found just enough ease in the restraints at his ankles to be able to maneuver into a sitting position that he could manage. "However, I shall soon require the use of my legs if I am to avoid permanent damage to my circulatory system. Vulcans have a much lower tolerance of prolonged physical restraint than most other hominid species."

Tarnín frowned. 

"You may, of course, train a weapon of your choice on me to ensure my compliance."

Tarnín gasped. "That would be unthinkable!"

"I fail to see the logic in your response when you seem unfazed by keeping me in restraints that will decrease my life span and quality."

Tarnín blinked. 

"You have informed me of your combat training. You are in perfect health and I am not. You have at least one other being on whom you can call for assistance, should the need arise, and the facilities that I see would tend to indicate that there are others working or living here. We may be well-matched opponents under optimal circumstances, but the current odds against my prevailing in a physical conflict with you are approximately six thousand, seven hundred and forty-eight to one."

In the long moment during which Tarnín considered that information, Spock's eyes recovered enough to notice that the Benthian scarab had migrated to Tarnín's other shoulder. Spock couldn't yet be sure, but it seemed as though the insect was looking at him.

"Those are convincing odds, Captain Spock," said Tarnín, at last.

"And they are, of course, as accurate as possible, under the circumstances."

"Of course." Tarnín smiled, very slightly.

The similarity between this conversation and those he'd had with Jim so many times hit Spock like a physical blow. He had to close his eyes against the wave of longing and pain and the threat of tears. Tears had become too easy since V'ger.

And then the restraints on his ankles fell away and Tarnín rested a hand lightly on his shoulder. "I am sorry for your pain."

"Did you set the bomb?"

"No."

"Then why were you cloaked?"

Tarnín sighed. "Because I'd heard that someone might be planning an act of terror, and I wanted to find out if that was the case and stop it."

"Why did you not report your suspicions to the authorities?"

Tarnín looked at him, quickly replacing a look of incredulity with one of dawning curiosity. "Are you aware of how the Federation authorities treat Benthians?"

"I know that you are protected from harassment and exploitation by outside species, and that the rules accorded all member planets are also afforded to you under the terms of—"

Tarnín uttered as harsh and brief a laugh as Spock had ever heard. "Every time anyone reports a problem to the authorities, however small, Federation operatives interrogate every Benthian within a fifty kilometer radius. Even if the being accused of wrongdoing is a Golgothyrian or a human or an Andorian, the Benthians are held responsible until there is overwhelming proof to the contrary. Even then, there is no guarantee that Benthians will be exonerated."

"But surely, under Article Seventeen, Section—"

"We are not allowed to appeal. We are either imprisoned, relieved of our positions – and therefore our pay and any chance of living, visiting or even working in the terminator zone – or forced to submit to the will of the primary complainant, no matter what they want, for no compensation."

"That is antithetical to Federation law."

Tarnín nodded. "As is disposing of refuse improperly, and outside of the Tourist Band – that which you know as the terminator zone."

Spock's hand went to the site of the wound caused by the methane explosion that had rendered him unconscious in the labyrinth of rubbish heaps. "What happened to Admiral Kirk?"

"I do not know." Tarnín sounded genuinely sad. "There are no signs of him at the Consular Inn, though the rescue and safety crews report him demanding to know of your last recorded location."

Spock frowned, rubbing circulation back into his ankles. "There are no reports of Benthians surviving for more than ten Federation standard days on the planet's diurnal hemisphere since before tidal locking finalized two centuries ago."

"My people, the People of the Sun, have kept our existence secret because the resources needed to survive here are scarce, and this is one of the few places where the Federation won't look for us. We can be safe here and live our lives in peace."

"How are you accomplishing this?" said Spock. 

"The caves allow us to manage light and moisture in such a way as to grow food. We recycle all water. But now, our safety and survival are becoming compromised by the encroachment of toxic refuse and the destabilization of nature and Benthian society within the terminator zone. As more and more of us are forced out of the fertile and temperate areas of the terminator, it is harder and harder to survive without risking discovery."

As Spock was about to respond, he heard footsteps – very quiet footsteps – to his left, and looked up in time to see a the shimmer that he'd followed from the conference chamber before a figure appeared from under it. Similar in height and build to Tarnín – about one point eight meters and very slim, with long limbs – but with all the outward signs of being male, the being tossed the cloak to Tarnín. "I believe you lost this."

"It was ripped from me by the blast wave." Tarnín smoothed out the edges and worked it over, treating it with reverence. "I am glad that you are alive and well."

"Although you appear to be happier to see your cloak," the stranger quipped.

Tarnín moved to him, grasped him by the shoulders and bumped their foreheads together, smiling.

"That's better," said the newcomer. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your ... friend?" The contempt in the man's voice was not lost on Spock.

"Don't be rude!" Tarnín turned towards Spock. "Captain Spock, this is my brother, Gleymór."

*****

"You are here because you are our only hope."

"Explain," said Kirk.

"You are the best known member of the Federation to visit Benthia," said the girl. "If we have you, maybe they'll listen to us."

"Oh, that." Kirk shifted in an attempt to relieve the pressure on his hip. "Who would listen to you? And who are you?"

"The Federation Council on Resource Allocation and Management. And I am Nírsa."

"Well, Nírsa, I can tell you right now that the Federation doesn't negotiate with kidnappers, especially for Starfleet military personnel."

"We are aware of Federation regulations and practices, Admiral Kirk," said Nírsa, speaking more tersely than she had. "We are also aware that extreme fame transcends normal operating procedures, even in Starfleet." 

Kirk snorted. "You've never met Admiral Komack."

"Does Admiral Komack resent fame?"

If Kirk could have rubbed the back of his head right then, he would have. The shackles reminded him that he couldn't. He sighed, instead. "Let's just say that there are those in Starfleet who would cheerfully throw me out of airlock in deep space the first chance they got, if it weren't for Starfleet regulations." 

"That is violent," said Nírsa.

"Yes it is," said Kirk. "So is kidnapping someone and keeping him against his will."

There was a pause, during which Kirk began to realize that he could start to make out the shapes of Nírsa's face and features in the near-darkness.

"You said that you might have said 'yes' if M—if my companions had asked you."

Kirk immediately plotted his way out. "Yes...."

"Remember that I can read people, Admiral."

"I thought you had to be touching me to do that."

"Even if you were correct, which you are not, your face is very expressive."

"And you've adapted to seeing in the dark."

"Correct."

"Are you sure you aren't Vulcan?"

Nírsa made a peculiar snuffling noise that Kirk interpreted as laughter. 

"Well, at least you have a sense of humor...."

But the snuffling continued and grew louder.

"Hey, are you okay?"

Nírsa didn't respond. The noise changed from snuffling to uncontrollable coughing.

Kirk tried tugging hard on the restraints, but nothing broke or gave, even a little. He couldn't even tell what they were made of. "Nírsa? Nírsa! Can you free my hands? I can help..."

But Nírsa was wracked with coughing and wheezing.

"Hey!" Kirk yelled, "Anyone out there? Your companion's having some trouble...."

Nothing happened, except for a terrifying increase in Nírsa's respiratory distress.

"HEY!" Kirk started yanking hard on the chains and thumping his heels on the bed as loudly as he could. "Anybody! Nírsa needs your help!"

Nothing.

"Nírsa ... what can I do? How can I help?" Kirk remembered the forcefield on Minara II and relaxed, emptying his mind.

It didn't work. It never did with conventional chains. "Damn," he muttered. Then, "HELP!" he all but screamed.

Nothing.

"Nírsa ... just keep breathing. What am I saying? HEY, ANYBODY!" Kirk started flailing his hands, banging on whatever was behind him as hard as he could, finding the spot that made the most noise. "NÍRSA'S DYING!"

He hit the surface behind him as hard as he could and heard something click. He wasn't sure that it wasn't a bone or two in his left hand.

And then there was a mechanical noise and a breeze blew over him, coming from behind and running close to his left side.

Nírsa leaned into it, coughing, gasping, struggling.

Kirk tried to reach her as she came closer, but the restraints once again thwarted him. He caught a whiff of the breeze and smelled something uncharacteristic. "Medicine?"

Nírsa might have nodded, but it was too hard to distinguish her head movement from her spasms.

Kirk flashed back to his mom, calming one of Sam's asthma attacks when they were out of reach of medical help. "It's okay," he said, in his most soothing voice. "Whatever you need, I'm here. I'll help, if I can."

Nírsa reached up and touched his left hand as she coughed.

Kirk winced, biting down on a cry. He was pretty sure that he'd at least bruised a knucklebone of his middle finger.

Nírsa's hand slipped down to Kirk's forearm as her coughing began to abate. 

"It's all right," he soothed. "Almost over...." He thought quieting thoughts, remembered images of his family at Yosemite, admiring the repopulated redwoods. At that last thought, there was a minute change in the grip of Nírsa's fingers. But then it was gone, leaving Kirk wondering if he'd imagined it.

It took Nírsa several minutes to come back to herself enough to say, "Gra-gratitude...."

"You're welcome. What happened? If I may ask...."

"Fuh-fungus."

"Fungus?"

Nírsa nodded weakly, leaning on the bed and still gripping Kirk's arm.

"Well, it is kind of dark and ... moist in here."

Nírsa shook her head. "Not in here. We cleaned the room so you could be safe."

"You ... well, thank you. I think.... But who's 'we'? And where are 'they'? The ones who kidnapped me? Nobody came when you were dying, and I really tried." Kirk's hand was hurting considerably more, now that his captor's bronchial fit had passed.

"They will return soon. They are finishing your new quarters."

"You mean the room you said they were building? Where I can be free of these shackles?"

"Yes."

"Funny; I don't hear anything being remodeled...."

"Remodeled.... You mean, 'recycled'?"

Kirk blinked. "I ... suppose that works." He desperately wanted to rub his face and wake up. Also – "Oh.... Nírsa, I ... think your injection's wearing off prematurely. I really need to use the head ... now!"

Nírsa picked up her head and rose, stumbling away to where she had once been seated and returning with something grasped in her hand.

"Please tell me that's the key...."

"It is the key." Nírsa unlocked all four shackles.

Kirk noticed that she moved at a dizzying speed.

"Can you stand without assistance?"

Kirk rubbed his wrists and sat up, experimentally. "I think so. Where is your ... sanitary facility?"

"Let me guide you. We are not allowed to have light for another seven standard hours, and you might injure yourself."

"I hope you aren't planning to ... stay with me while I...."

Nírsa flinched as she helped him get up. "I have no intention of doing so!"

"Good. Then please help me navigate in a hurry!"

*****

Spock observed a flicker of nervousness that lasted for point zero-one-three seconds in Gleymór's eyes before ending in a diplomat's smile that barely met acceptable standards for veiling contempt. 

"Captain Spock," the man said. "I am pleased to see that you survived the explosion. You were feared dead."

Refusing to show pain or difficulty of movement, even though both were present, Spock rose, clasping his hands behind his back as the robe in which he'd been clothed fell into place. "I see. Have you any news of Admiral Kirk?"

The corner of Gleymór's mouth twitched imperceptibly to anyone but a Vulcan or Jim Kirk. "I regret that I have no knowledge of Admiral Kirk's status."

Tarnín's eyes flicked towards him. "Have they not concluded the investigation, yet?"

"I'm afraid not," said Gleymór. "But they have found no remains. Captain Spock, how did you find this place?"

"I brought him here," said Tarnín.

"Really? By yourself? I had thought you incapable of carrying someone as large and dense as Captain Spock."

Spock lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing.

"No offense, Captain," said Gleymór. "Vulcans are denser in mass than most other ... humanoids."

"But not as dense as Benthians, Gleymór," said Tarnín. "Please forgive him, Captain Spock. As Chief Overseer of Operations at the Consular Inn, he has been very preoccupied, of late. What with planning the Conference on Galactic Resource Management, and now the act of terror...."

"Yes, it is logical that such conditions would prove stressful."

"To anyone but a Vulcan, you mean?"

"Gleymór! There was no reason to infer any such slight from Captain Spock's words."

Spock noted the minute contortions in Gleymór's facial apparatus: the contraction of the left lower eyelid, the single tick of the right ear, the extraordinarily rapid flaring of both nostrils, the aborted sneer of the left upper lip. It all took one point two-one seconds and informed him of more than he'd ever planned to know about the state of things on Benthia.

"You are correct. Apologies, Captain Spock. I must make use of a sleep cycle. Tarnín, I regret disturbing your peace." Gleymór turned and left before any response was possible.

The scarab on Tarnín's shoulder moved until it found skin, and touched it with a foreleg.

Tarnín's eyes closed and there was silence and a noticeable lessening of tension that lasted for twelve seconds until it stabilized at a level acceptable to Vulcan norms.

"Tarnín," said Spock, when it seemed appropriate, "I do not believe your brother."

Tarnín's eyes opened, though more calmly than Spock had expected. "Specify."

"I believe that he knows more about Admiral Kirk's status than he stated."

Tarnín lifted a hand to the scarab, which climbed onto it. "I agree."

The communion between the scarab and Tarnín seemed to change the nature of the atmosphere in the room. Spock noted a slight increase in ambient psionic pressure and a decrease of tension in his own body, along with a relaxation of Tarnín's musculoskeletal structure and facial expression.

"Captain Spock, I must apologize for my brother's rudeness to you."

"I see no logical reason for you to do so," said Spock. "His actions are his own, are they not?"

"Not entirely," said Tarnín, with a look that Spock thought might be regret.

"I do not understand."

"He blames me for much of what has happened to him. He never wanted to work at the Consular Inn, or even in the Tourist Band. He just wanted to stay here and never have to deal with ... differences."

The scarab crawled quickly up Tarnín's right arm until it could perch on bare skin not far from the right earlobe.

"Can you elaborate on the differences that trouble him?"

"Not here. Come with me. It is nearly time for a meal, and I would show you our subsistence center." Tarnín's first step was quick enough that it blurred, even to Spock.

"I am not capable at this time of keeping up with you at that pace," he said, though Tarnín had traversed ten meters and exited the door before he could finish the sentence. 

"Of course. I forget, sometimes, that other species don't all have our speed of movement."

Spock caught up with Tarnín, his injury proving more obtrusive than he'd allowed. He schooled away the pain and adjusted his gait to accommodate the needs of mending flesh. "How long have the People of the Sun resided here?"

"In this complex?"

Spock nodded.

"Lunara has been occupied continuously since the time of Bāthar the Savior. Before that, it was used by my family in the days when the moon shone and night still came this far from the terminator zone. They would make the pilgrimage twice per Benthian year, when night filled much of the sky for two hours and the moon was big enough to fill the Chamber of Light and allow us to watch the scarabs dance."

Spock slowed. "'Us'?"

Tarnín barely hesitated. "Yes, 'us'."

"Then you are—"

"One thousand, seven hundred and twenty-nine Federation standard years old. I think."

"And Gleymór?"

"One thousand, eight hundred and seventeen Federation standard years, he says." Tarnín stopped at a door that appeared to be made of sandstone. It had a figure carved or pressed into it of a solar system of twelve planets and their moons that looked very much like Benthia's, including the rogue orbit of Nírth that didn't quite fit in the depiction. 

Spock gazed at it for a moment, noting the abstraction of scale and the fading out of Nírth's orbital path. "Am I correct in thinking that this is a carving by Pentár of Nol?"

Tarnín blinked at him. "Yes. How did you know?"

"The southeastern quadrant of Nírth's orbit is implied, rather than stated, indicating at least an influence based in Benthia's neo-renaissance esthetic, of which Pentár was a major exponent. And Pentár's signature appears on the western edge of Benthia."

"I had no idea you studied Benthian art to this extent, Spock! Forgive me, I meant Captain Spock...."

"Though appreciated, the title is only necessary in formal negotiations. I have always been interested in the arts and cultures of worlds beyond my own. And it is my duty to keep my commanding officer abreast of significant achievements and cultural mores of any location to which he will travel."

Tarnín nodded.

"I have admired Pentár's work since my father completed his first diplomatic mission to Fratria when I was a child."

"Really? I did not know that Sarek of Vulcan concerned himself with such matters."

"My father is most interested in the arts, as is my mother."

Tarnín turned back to the door, touching the carving with infinite lightness. "Pentár was my great-great-great grandparent, the one for whom I was named. Zie lived for more than five thousand Federation standard years. Gleymór and I will not be so fortunate."

"Why not?"

"Because all Benthians are dying."

"What is the cause?"

"The cause is unknown. But our bodies are deteriorating. Even amongst the adults, none of us is expected to live for more than another two hundred years. And our children.... Their suffering is unspeakable. All of mine have died – those I've borne and those I've sired – before they lived ten Federation standard years."

"I believe that Admiral McCoy could assist you in finding a cause and possibly a cure for this ailment—"

"We cannot allow any more of your people on Benthia!" Tarnín sounded terrified for the first time since Spock had met zir.

"Why not?"

"Because the Darksiders will take them just as they took Admiral Kirk!"

Spock took a step toward Tarnín before folding his hands into the sleeves of his robe and clasping his own forearms so as not to harm zir. "Where have they taken him?"

"I don't know," said Tarnín. "But I know from Gleymór's mind that he knows that the Darksiders have him, and that he met Admiral Kirk."

"Where is Gleymór?"

"In his sleeping chamber—"

"Where?" 

"I will not say."

Spock took a step forward, using all his presence. "You will tell me."

"I will not."

There was a noise from fifty meters behind Spock. He turned on his heel and strode toward it, only to find Tarnín blocking his path. He stepped around, but Tarnín was immediately blocking him again. He reached for the pressure points to subdue his opponent, but found both arms gripped hard enough to prevent him from moving without risk to his bones.

"I will not allow you to damage my brother's health," said Tarnín, zir voice pitched lower.

"I will find Admiral Kirk, by any means necessary."

"And I will protect my family with equal vigor." Tarnín did not increase the pressure on Spock's arms in the slightest, but made it clear that zie was not using anything close to full force.

And then he saw that the scarab had moved to Tarnín's hand and was stepping cautiously onto his arm. 

A stillness ensued between Spock and Tarnín. 

Spock became aware that the scarab wanted to touch his skin.

Tarnín relaxed zir grip on Spock's arm, allowing him to offer his hand to the scarab, which set one forefoot and an antenna against his skin.

_Life-Friend in pain not at fault brother not!knows where Vulcan mate. World will not sustain life find your Jim leave world remove others peace long life ruined Bāthar fault._

_Visitor in pain not at fault needs mate must help. World die._

_Visitor violent Life-Friend violent unacceptable work together. Mates die._

Spock reeled when the contact ended, images from Benthia's long history flooding his mind, all with great urgency and noise. "I understand."

"As do I," said Tarnín. "Gleymór cannot tell us where Admiral Kirk is, because he does not know."

"I must find him."

"I know someone who may be able to provide some knowledge of where to look for him."

Spock nodded, realizing that he was swaying only when Tarnín steadied him. "You must take me to that person."

"I believe you know that we must both take nourishment before we can set out to find your Admiral."

Despite years of Jim's on-again, off-again Admiralty status, Spock still found himself surprised by hearing it when it wasn't formally used. Try as he might, he couldn't rid himself of the illogical jolt when "Admiral" was preceded by a possessive pronoun. It had never sounded correct to think, "I must have my Admiral back." And even now, while he was exerting great effort to quell his worries, he seemed unable to stop thinking, _I need my Captain back._

"Spock? Do you require me to carry you to the subsistence center?"

"No."

As Spock followed Tarnín through the carved door, he tried not to articulate in so many words _I need Jim back._

"The light will last for ten hours," said Nírsa, as Kirk rubbed sleep out of his eyes and blinked up at the tall male with the food.

"Ten hours? What if I want to take a nap?"

"Better to eat, first," said Nírsa. "Food rots quickly, here." She nodded at the male to put the food on the table. "Thank you, Pendón."

The man hesitated before turning and leaving.

"I don't want your damned food," Kirk muttered.

"Then the people that gave up part of their ration will be glad to have it back," said Nírsa, hotly.

"Ration?"

"Your Federation Resource Council allows Benthians just thirty percent of what we grow on Benthia!"

"That's because Benthians account for thirty percent of the population," Kirk shot back.

"In the Twilight Zone, perhaps, but they never did a census of the Dark Side population!"

"That's impossible," said Kirk, pacing the full twelve feet of the bedroom width. "Any Starship could do that census before it even established orbit."

"No, it couldn't." Nírsa drifted into her chair.

Kirk stopped pacing. "Why not?"

"Because after Bāthar the Savior, the Darksiders lined everything with erillium."

"Everything?"

"Dwellings, garments, transports, structures ... everything."

Kirk shook his finger at her. "Bāthar the Savior never left Golgothyria. How could he make you line everything with erillium? And how do you line clothing with erillium?"

Nírsa blinked her huge eyes at him, reminding him of every adolescent he'd known long enough to induce the 'silly adult, don't you know this?' response. "Bāthar the Savior visited Benthia in secret five hundred and seventeen Federation standard years ago at the request of the High Council of Léina."

"Five hundred ... the Orion pirate raids...."

"Yes. And since Bāthar had saved his own sector from them—"

"The High Council thought he could do the same for Benthia."

"Yes."

"So why the erillium?"

"I'll tell you if you eat."

"Oh, yes, the people who gave up their ration. You'd better explain that to me, as well." Kirk sat down at the tiny table and realized that this was a teenager's room. "Is this your room?"

"Yes." Nírsa shot a nanosecond glance at him that told him everything about how inconvenient he was. And then, "Sorry," she said. "That was rude."

"Apology accepted," said Kirk, as graciously as he could while being stuffed into a chair built for a six and a half foot, wafer-thin teen. "Erillium?" He dug into the food put before him. Despite its lack of color, it was delicious.

"Bāthar couldn't stay to protect us once he defeated the Orions, so he taught us how to use erillium to shield us from detection by the other forces that were stealing from us. Benthia was surrounded by seven rival trade alliances, all of them wanting our resources."

"But how would shielding your people protect Benthia's resources from being raided?"

Nírsa shifted as she picked at her food. "Bāthar said that it would fool the raiders into sending smaller forces that we could defeat more easily."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense. It worked, right?"

"Mostly," said Nírsa. She put down the spoonful of food she'd been about to eat.

"But...."

"It meant committing violence."

"True, but—"

"Bāthar said we had to destroy them utterly. We had to make it seem like they would never survive the attempt, like some invisible force they didn't understand would kill everything. He said it was the only way to force them to deal with the High Council."

"He was renowned for his strategy." Kirk stopped with his spoon halfway to his lips. "Was that how the Benthian Maw legend got started?"

Nírsa nodded, miserably, pushing her food away. "It was horrible. My parents told me of the acts they had to commit."

Kirk nodded. "The stories were...." He rethought his choice of words and tone of voice as he saw her face change color. "Gruesome."

"Yes." Nírsa's face color stabilized.

"Why do you hate violence so much?"

"Because we nearly destroyed ourselves with it. Everyone older than three thousand has stories."

"Three thousand? How long do you people live?"

"Our average lifespan is supposed to be about four or five thousand orbital cycles. But now ... I will be lucky if I live to see Pentár's Prism two hundred times."

"I take it that's a constellation?"

"Yes," said Nírsa, brightening considerably. "It rises tomorrow. It is the most beautiful thing in the sky!"

"I suppose I'll still be here when it rises?"

"That probability is ninety-nine point nine percent."

"You really sound like a Vulcan, you know." Kirk stabbed at his food, appetite gone.

Nírsa gazed at him in silence for a minute, while Kirk took the time to notice purple eyes – the shade almost certainly meant that they were contact eye-color enhancements – long limbs that seemed somehow slimmer than they should have been and pale skin whose color seemed slightly off, though he thought that might be the fluorescent color of the lighting. "You said that you might have said 'yes' if my companions had asked you to come here."

"I did say that."

"If I asked you to come with me to the ancient city of Nol, would you do so without trying to harm me or the others?"

Kirk thought about this before opening his mouth. Nírsa could read him. And he was genuinely curious, but he resented the hell out of being kidnapped and controlled. He always had. But he had never been to a tidally locked planet before, which seemed a bit strange, because most planets out there probably were locked. And Pentár's Prism sounded sort of interesting. He always had loved the stars....

"I can't promise you that," he said, at last. "And if you can read me as you say you can, you know exactly how much I hate telling you that."

Nírsa studied him. "I must discuss you with the others. Someone will return here in one Federation standard hour. If you have not finished your food by then, it must be removed for everyone's safety. The water is drinkable, as long as it doesn't turn gray."

"Sounds pretty standard for any planet," muttered Kirk.

Nírsa inclined her head. "I would advise drinking it sooner, rather than later." With that, she was gone, and the metal door latched and locked behind her.

Kirk ate the rest of his food before he could think about anything else. If food was being rationed on Benthia, and Benthians were having to sacrifice part of their ration to keep him, there was no knowing when he would be fed again. He sipped the water – it tasted odd, but safe, he decided after a moment – and explored his room. He still couldn't hear any construction noises, but then, he couldn't hear anything at all outside of the room. 

He went to the window and saw lighting in the distance. He'd have to look out of it again, once the lighting inside was turned off, just to see where the absolute darkness began. He'd always been good at geometry and trig, so calculating the distance wouldn't be hard unless the absolute terminator wasn't visible to him. Determining the distance to Fratria would be less simple, because he had no idea how far north or south he was of it, or how he had been transported. Just because Nírsa had told him that he was on the other side of it didn't mean that he was near it. 

Unless, of course, she meant that he was still in the city.

Kirk tried opening the window. There was no mechanism he could see, so he pushed up, down, out, to each side, diagonally ... nothing worked. The stuff seemed integrated into the stone walls, and it felt like transparent aluminum. 

He looked behind the headboard – it was a metal grate with a slab of something wood-like that looked as though it had had several owners over time. Suitable for restraining hostages and yet sort of homey, he thought, wryly. He was glad the wood was there, or he'd have broken his hands when he tried to get help for Nírsa. 

The fan he found behind it had a push-button switch that had likely been activated when he'd hit the board. It also had a timer on it and a vial attached to it that was almost empty. He wasn't sure whether to worry for Nírsa's health, or be grateful that replacing it might cause a commotion of which he could take advantage and by which he might make good his escape.

But dammit, no matter what Nírsa's plight, she was still his kidnapper, and he didn't hold with Stockholm Syndrome. And if her partners in crime had killed Spock, he really didn't care what happened to them, or to Fratria, or to Benthia, for that matter. He'd have no compunctions about sending the whole place to Hell in a ball of fire.

Except that Spock would be horrified. All that strength and power, and Spock couldn't stomach violence. It occurred to him then, for the second time, to wonder if the Benthians had similar reason to deplore it. Perhaps it wasn't a coincidence that the forbearance he'd seen so far in difficult circumstances had reminded him somewhat of his dealings with Vulcans. Perhaps Tarnín's customer service skills and Gleymór's open struggle to control his hostility towards Federation representatives were attempts to leash formidable power.

For that matter, Nírsa's rapid movement could just as easily have been a sign of superior musculature as of worry about capture. 

And there was what she said about Benthians dying and the rationing of food. Something wasn't right on Benthia. He'd felt it since he'd materialized in the middle of the fakeness of the Consular Inn. As much as mysteries gave him a bellyache, he was beginning to think it might be a good idea to do a little digging. Maybe he should go quietly with Nírsa to Nol. It might give him a chance to find out more about what was happening to Benthia while he was planning his escape. But he'd have to get used to shielding against a new species. And he'd have to get hold of a communicator. He hoped the _Enterprise_ was in range.

He wished he knew where Spock was.

He drank the rest of his water, and waited.

*****

Spock found the cold unsettling, and was more than a little annoyed at having had to submit to being blindfolded for the journey across Fratria. It would have been useful to see the Consular Inn from above, as well as to plan his escape with Jim.

Once the door closed behind him, the temperature seemed more bearable.

"You may remove your blindfold, now," said Tarnín.

Spock did so, knowing that there was no need to move slowly because no Vulcan could threaten a Benthian with rapidity of motion.

"Captain Spock," said Tarnín, "I introduce Mársen. Mársen, I introduce Captain Spock. Please be made known to each other."

Spock looked straight at Mársen, as he'd been taught.

Mársen inclined his head. "I accept you into the circle of my acquaintance."

"I reciprocate." Spock held out his hand, as though for a Terran handshake.

Mársen took it and read him. "He is as you described, Tarnín. Captain Spock, has my Promised One told you of my dislike of aliens?"

"Yes. Zie has also told me that you may have information that could lead me to Admiral Kirk."

"Were it not for the fact that Admiral Kirk is your lifemate, I would not have agreed to meet you today. Those who are holding him are desperate enough to have broken our rules of non-violence, and I will not condone their actions."

"Then you will take me to them so that I may recover my ... lifemate."

"I would if you had formalized your arrangement in any manner that we could recognize," said Mársen. "Even if you were Promised Ones, I would see to it that Benthian law was enforced. But you are just friends, according to our law, and I cannot intervene."

"Then take me to him."

"I cannot do that."

"I will surrender myself to his captors in exchange for his release."

Mársen shook his head. "They will not consider it."

"Then I will surrender myself on condition that they keep me with him. We are both valuable hostages."

Mársen was silent.

"Mársen," said Tarnín, "I would ask this of you, too. Spock and Kirk are lifemates in truth, even if they have not formalized their bond. I am your Promised One, and I would not deceive you as they have deceived themselves."

Mársen turned wistfully to the window. "Did you know that they have taken Kirk to Nol?"

"On the night of Prism rise?" Tarnín swallowed. "I have not seen it in six orbits."

"I have not seen it in four," said Mársen.

"Then let us go there," said Tarnín, turning Mársen toward zir. "It will be good to see the stars, again."

Mársen gazed at Tarnín. "I would have to blindfold you, Captain Spock."

"I will endure it, if you will take me to Admiral Kirk."

"Very well. Tarnín ... you will be very troubled when you discover who took him."

"How long have you known who did it?"

"I learned of it as your flitter landed outside."

"Then you must tell me who it is."

Mársen shook his head. "It will be better for all if you see for yourself."

Tarnín searched Mársen's face as the scarab leaned forward on zir shoulder. "Very well. Did they create the explosion?"

"No, and I still do not know who did. We should hurry. And Xiko will not be safe in Nol."

"I brought her habitat," said Tarnín, pulling a wooden box from zir robe. "She will tell me when she needs it."

"I was not concerned primarily with the cold," said Mársen. "There are reports of smugglers infiltrating Dark Side settlements. Another cost of Federation rule." He held out his hand. "It is time to blindfold you, Captain Spock."

"It is better if you let him do it," said Tarnín, before Spock had to. "We tie them too tightly and injure his eyes."

"Very well, but I must check when you are done, and you must not move your hands to your face during the journey."

"Understood," said Spock. "Would it be acceptable for me to enter a light, meditative trance during that time?"

"That would be welcome," said Mársen, more pointedly than would be diplomatically appropriate.

*****

It was glorious to be outside, looking up at a starscape he'd never dreamed of imagining. Nírsa had been right: the stars here were amazing. And though it was colder than any place he had ever been, the garb Nírsa and her cousins had given him was warm and soft, and the people pressing around him created a heat generator that warmed body and soul as much as it challenged his personal space. 

The thing that made it most awkward, though, was the fact that the only people there who weren't at least a head taller than him were the children. So he was both grateful and a little embarrassed to have been befriended by a thirty-three year old boy named Vols, who had made his way through the crowd at near-warp speed saying, "I want to be next to the Alien!" Kirk remembered doing that when he was five and an Andorian had joined the queue for a flitterbus to a nearby amusement park. His parents had both been mortified.

As Vols had chattered on to him, and told everyone how awesome the Alien was, the crowd had gradually stopped avoiding him. Kirk had begun to feel less like a kidnap victim and more like a welcome guest. 

He was just starting to relax a little more when he heard the sound of a flitter hovering and landing about forty yards behind him. Kirk turned. 

So did the crowd, though it took longer. They fell silent, parting to let whoever had flown it there through. Kirk could see only by the starlight, so it took him a while to make out the shapes of two Benthians and someone shorter, about six feet, give or take, and with a gait he would never mistake, especially when clothed in a long, light-colored robe. "Spock?" he whispered.

The figure and its entourage stopped about six feet from Kirk. 

"Is this Admiral Kirk?" said the Benthian behind and to the right of the hooded figure.

Hands that Kirk knew as well as he knew his own emerged from opposite sleeves and pulled the hood back far enough to reveal a face Kirk had thought he'd never see again. "Yes," said Spock, huskily.

Vols bounded over to Spock, head turning back and forth between him and Kirk. "Two aliens!" He grinned wider than Kirk had ever imagined a Benthian could smile.

"Vols!" said a parent. "Don't be rude!"

"But two aliens! This is fantastic!"

"Admiral Kirk, please forgive our son. He has never been to the Twilight Zone before, and has never met anyone from off world."

"It's all right," said Kirk, absently. All he wanted to do was hug the stuffing out of Spock, but – "Not in front of the Benthians, right, Spock?"

"Correct, Admiral."

Kirk gathered himself, smiling like a loon. "I ... have it on good authority that the rising of Pentár's Prism is a thing not to be missed. Would you care to join me, Captain Spock?"

"I would be honored," said Spock.

Only Kirk could tell that the cold was affecting Spock badly. 

And then he saw the second figure approaching. "Tarnín," he said, affably, "I tried to find you after the ... unfortunate event in Fratria. I'm glad to see that you're all right."

"Thank you, Admiral. I am likewise extremely pleased to see that you are alive and well. Your lifemate has been ... concerned about your wellbeing."

"Ah, yes, well, we can talk about that after Prism Rise, can't we?" Kirk held out his arm. "Come on in, Spock! Nothing like the heat of hundreds to keep a body warm."

Vols ran in between them. "I'm touching two aliens!"

Kirk couldn't be sure whether to laugh or cry, so he just followed the other heads in the crowd and watched as, slowly but surely, the brightest constellation he'd ever seen rose on the horizon.

"It will be directly overhead in one hundred and thirty more Federation standard days," said Vols. 

"Excellent," said Kirk, preventing himself strongly from thinking anything else, even though all he wanted was to be alone with Spock.

"The Admiral alien wants to kiss the Captain alien," Vols announced.

" _Vols!_ " This came from at least ten voices, the most pained of which were likely the boy's parents.

Nírsa pushed her way through the press of people. "We should go inside," she said, quietly.

"Nírsa?" said Tarnín. "Do you know Admiral Kirk?"

"Yes, Cousin."

"We must discuss this," said Tarnín after a very pregnant pause.

"Inside," said Nírsa. "Vols, you cannot come with us."

"But—"

"Come along, Vols," said a male voice.

"Yes, Parent." Vols departed. The last thing they heard as he was spirited away at Benthian speed was, "Two aliens!"

"Welcome to our family home," said Nírsa, as they entered a more ornate door than Kirk had thought it would be when he'd last entered it blindfolded. "Pendón, Pennín, we have visitors. And we need lights."

Two Benthian males emerged from two different rooms and began lighting candles. They did not look pleased.

"Captain Spock, these are my brothers, Pendón and Pennín. Admiral Kirk, this is Mársen, Tarnín's Promised One."

"Pleased to meet you, Mársen. I don't suppose you happened to bomb the Consular Inn, did you?"

Tarnín and Nírsa restrained the three Benthian males.

"Admiral, I might suggest a more diplomatic approach," said Spock. "I have yet to find anyone who knows who created the explosion that destroyed the conference."

"I have the same issue, Spock." Kirk ran a hand down the back of his head. "And it also seems as though the Federation presence here is killing the indigenous population of Benthia."

"Indeed," said Spock. "I have been hearing the same thing."

At that moment, there was a rattle from the direction of one of Tarnín's sleeves. Zie pulled a small box from it and opened it, letting a Benthian scarab crawl up zir arm.

"I see you were right about Tarnín's scarab," said Kirk.

"Yes. Her name is Xiko."

"Xiko. Does she bite?" Kirk stretched his hand toward her, but Spock intervened with a touch.

"Inadvisable at this time, Jim."

Kirk had had no idea how wound up he was until Spock touched his arm. 

"Why did you bring them here?" 

All eyes turned to Pendón.

"You know they track all personnel who work at the Consular Inn, and you brought Tarnín here, and Captain Spock. Why, Mársen?"

"Because Spock is Kirk's lifemate, Pendón! It is against our laws to forcibly separate them."

"They are not married, Mársen," said Nírsa. "Captain Kirk said so."

"I know, child," said Mársen, wearily, "but they are bonded in soul, if not on parchment, and are we to follow the example of the Federation and adhere to the letter of the law while ignoring its spirit?"

Kirk and Spock exchanged looks.

"And you three kidnapped Admiral Kirk, the most revered and famous member of Starfleet," Mársen continued. "Do you know how many Benthians are being rounded up and interrogated by Federation authorities because of your actions?"

"Five hundred and thirty-seven on the first day alone," said Tarnín, quietly. "Gleymór told me a sleep cycle ago that they are scouring the Tourist Band for every Benthian in it, planet-wide. It is only the erillium that is slowing their progress into the Dark Side, and their belief that nobody can live within ten thousand kilometers of the Sun's Cheekbone that has prevented them from finding us. But it is just a matter of time."

"What does it matter if they kill us more quickly than we are already dying?" said Pennín.

"Such fatalism brings shame to our family and our people," said Tarnín.

"I came here," said Spock, "to surrender myself to you so that I could be with my ... Admiral Kirk."

Kirk looked at Spock, startled.

"I do not wish to be a hostage, nor do I wish to see Benthians harmed," Spock continued. "If Federation operatives are, indeed, behaving in this manner, Admiral Kirk and I have the strongest possible obligation to bring them to justice. And since I have witnessed and been injured by vast deposits of illegal refuse on the daylight side of Benthia, I plan to file a complaint myself with the Federation Council on Resource Allocation and Management seeking immediate remediation."

Pennín scoffed. "How many complaints do you think we have filed, only to be lied to, turned down, dismissed or worse?"

"I do not know," said Spock, "but I have a certain ... power within the Federation and Starfleet that cannot be ignored."

"And so do I," said Kirk. "But it's hard for me to help people who hit me over the head and kidnap me. Or my lifemate."

"You wouldn't help us, anyway," said Pendón. "This is just a trick to make us let you go."

"How old are you?" asked Kirk.

"Er, three hundred and thirty-one."

"You are lying, Pendón," said Nírsa. "They're both one hundred and two, and they won't reach legal adulthood until they're two hundred and sixty-seven."

"Do you not have a parent or guardian?" Kirk asked.

"Our parents died," said Nírsa. "One was killed in a flitter accident and the other died in interrogation."

"Was that interrogation conducted by a Federation operative?" asked Spock.

"Yes," said Nírsa. "They said his name was Kobol."

Kirk glanced at Spock, who was glancing back. "When did this happen?" 

"Thirty-five years ago."

"We know what's happening, or part of it," said Kirk. "We need to contact our ship, the _Enterprise_. That wasn't a Federation operative who killed your parent, it was a Klingon."

"I have a communication device," said Tarnín. "But using it here will cause us to be found and expose the population of Nol. If we can wait through the next sleep cycle and get back to Fratria, it will be better."

"But what about the interrogations?" said Nírsa. "We can't let that continue!"

"You were perfectly willing to let it continue when you thought Kirk was your enemy," said Mársen, hotly.

"She has a point, though," said Tarnín. "There is one possibility. If Admiral Kirk and Captain Spock formalized their bond in the Hall of Agreement, Mársen, you could officiate and record the necessary documents tonight, proving that they are alive and well, and here of their own accord. At that point, it would be safe to open communications with the _Enterprise_. It is known that tourists sometimes elope to the Benthian Maw, and for that reason, the Hall of Agreement is the one Dark Side structure that is not shielded with erillium."

"Marriage?" Kirk felt a bit like he'd just been hit in the head with a giant marshmallow.

"I would not wish to enter into such an agreement under duress," said Spock.

"Pendón, Pennín, Nírsa, you knew since we arrived that you will release Admiral Kirk and Captain Spock immediately," said Tarnín. "You will also make reparations to them and to all on Benthia whom you have harmed by your actions, including your cousin Gleymór, whose illness has been made worse in part by the kidnapping of Admiral Kirk. You have caused great harm and shame to your family by committing such acts of violence."

"Yes, Cousin," said Nírsa. She glared at Pendón and Pennín.

"Yes, Cousin," they both said, eventually. 

"Admiral Kirk, Captain Spock," said Tarnín, "as functional head of this family until and unless my brother recovers, I submit myself to the Federation for arrest and discipline in your kidnapping. I regret that I know nothing of who might have set the bomb."

"No," cried all the children at once.

"That is the price that must be paid under Benthian law," said Tarnín. "You know this."

"Admiral, may I propose an alternative?" said Spock.

"I'm all ears," said Kirk.

"I propose a detailed investigation into how the Klingons became involved in a Federation trust intended to keep Benthia safe from harm. I also propose that Admiral McCoy supervise a competent medical task force to discover and treat the cause or causes of Benthian loss of life. The environmental degradation on both sides of the terminator zone is readily apparent in the refuse being illegally dumped, even though the Darksiders are able to burn much of it for fuel. I believe that I am also smelling seventeen toxic molds in this house, and I know that I detected twenty-two of them in Mársen's quarters in the Twilight side of Fratria."

"Come to think of it, the water smelled kind of funny like that in Nírsa's room, and she did warn me about it turning gray," said Kirk. He finally smiled at Spock. "That's a lot of proposals, Mister Spock."

Spock nodded, slowly. "Yes. I have one more." He swallowed. "Jim, will you formalize our relationship? I have missed you."

Kirk gazed at him, smiling, seeing his life pass before his eyes. "Yes," he said at last.

Nírsa smiled, too, as did Tarnín. Pendón and Pennín sulked. Mársen rubbed his temple, as though it hurt.

*****

They were given a room to themselves. After the ceremony (so fast that they hardly knew that anything had changed) and the call to the _Enterprise_ (so long that Kirk had to hang up on them after filling in McCoy and ordering Scotty to launch a thorough investigation into everything that had happened on Benthia since first Federation contact), Kirk was exhausted.

But when they were alone, and the door closed behind them, Kirk found himself in a soul-crushing embrace. "Spock," he murmured. "I thought you were dead." He didn't notice, at first, that his lips were essentially kissing Spock's neck. And when he noticed, he didn't care.

It was one of the moments that always made Kirk look forward to the closeness of shared space with Spock, this forgoing of barriers, between them. And he valued it hugely, always, whether or not they had just gotten married. And really, nothing important had changed between them, other than the fact that they were now kissing deeply, and Spock was stripping the clothes from him, and he was more aroused than he could remember being in a very, very long time.

"Jim," Spock murmured against his ear.

That voice had always aroused Kirk, sometimes physically. And now, feeling Spock's arousal against his own, it nearly drove him to orgasm right then and there. "I never want to be apart from you, ever again," he said.

"The feeling is mutual," said Spock, against Kirk's cheek.

"Why have we waited so long?" Kirk slipped his hands into Spock's robe and parted it, guiding it off the smooth shoulders.

"We let unimportant things interfere," said Spock, running his hands down Kirk's naked body and half lifting him onto the bed. "I love you, Jim."

"I love you, too. So much."

The release came almost instantly – messy, perfunctory, wonderful, amateur – and neither of them cared. They held each other through it, kissing, caressing, exploring, letting themselves feel what they'd always avoided, knowing that there was no reason why they shouldn't do this again. And again. And again.

Kirk finally fell asleep in Spock's embrace, knowing that he'd never again have to sneak a kiss while Spock slept.


End file.
